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AT 



GAhSTOH^EGGhEFECHAK 



WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS. 



BY 

JOHN MUIR, F.S.A., Scot., 

Author ctf 

'• Thomas CarlyWs Apprenticeship." 




GALSTON BURGH AH.MJ 




(Bfaecjow : 
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED . BY THE- AUTHOR 

1896. 

PRICE SIXPENCE, NETT. 




) ' K $ r * Trade supplied by JOHN MENZIES & CO., Glasgow and Edinburgh. <r ^>CO 



BURNS 



AT 



GALSTON and ECCLEFECHAN 



JOHN MUIR, F.S.A., Scot. 

Author of 
''Thomas Carlyles Apprenticeship." 



,v 1 
1 

r" 



GALSTON B 



PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 
1896. 



. 



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\ \ 



121HI 




■*- 



V 



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*\ 



DEDICATED 



PROVOST WHITE, 



G ALSTON. 



NOTE. 

The Article on Burns at Ecdefechan is reprinted, with slight 
alterations, from the pages of a Scottish Magazine, revised and 
enlarged from a short paper under that title which appeared in 
the People's Friend. The other Article, on the poet's connection 
with the parish of Galston, is here printed for the first time. 

I am indebted to the kindness of my artistic friends, Mr. John 

Macintosh, Galston, and Mr. Harry Bertram, Glasgow, for 

the Photographs and Drawings from which the illustrations 

were taken. 

JOHN MUIR. 



14 Apsley Place, 
Glasgow, 25th January, 1896. 



BURNS AT GALSTON 



LEAVING the cross of Kilmarnock, and proceeding in a 
south-easterly direction, the pedestrian soon passes the 
Kay Park, in which is situated the Burns Monument, 
Museum, and Library, and in a short time finds himself passing 
through the clachan of Crookedholm and the village of Hurlford. 
Continuing in an easterly course, the road climbs up gradually 
to Hillhead toll-house, from which point it dips towards the 
bridge under which the 

Cessnock pours with gurgling sound ; * 

dividing Galston parish on the west from that of Riccarton ; as 
the river Irvine divides it on the north from Loudon, and forms 
the boundary of the bailliewicks of Cunningham and Kyle, the 
names of two of the three divisions into which the shire of Ayr 
has from early historic times been divided. 

On the Galston side of the Cessnock, a few miles up from this 
bridge, there was in the latter part of last century, a farm-house 
called Old Place, occupied by one Begbie, whose daughter, 
Ellison, figures conspicuously in the early prose and poetry 
of Burns — in the prose portion, as the recipient of five letters of 
an amorous nature; and in the poetical part, as the heroine of three 
of Burns's lyrics, two of them being among the very finest he 
ever composed. Old Place was about two miles from Lochlie, 
the farm in which Burns lived in 1780 when he made the 
acquaintance of Ellison Begbie. Four letters of his to Miss 
Begbie, beginning "My dear E.," were first published by Dr. 
Currie in his first edition, but were afterwards withdrawn from 
subsequent issues of the work, but for what reason the editor 
never thought it worth his while to say. Mr. Scott Douglas, in 
his Library Edition, published for the first time what seems to 
have been the initial letter of the series. These five letters 

* From suppressed stanzas of Burns's Vision. 



8 Burns at Galston. 

and three songs, with the meagre annotations of successive 
editors of the Poet's works, furnish us with all the authentic 
information which has hitherto been made public regarding this 
early and somewhat obscure period of Burns's history. 

Under what circumstances the poet first met Ellison Begbie, we 
have now no means of ascertaining. There is a tradition in the 
district, which I have often heard repeated, that he took a fancy 
to her while passing her home with his cart for coals. However 
that may be, we learn from the correspondence that the poet had 
been several times in her company ; and that although he had, 
according to his own confession, been most anxious to declare his 
passion, he had never had the courage to do so. Like many 
another bashful lover, he had recourse to letter writing; and after 
much sermonising, one is not surprised to learn that she refused 
the poet and married another lover. I quote the first letter 
in full :— 

What you may think of this letter, when you see the name that 
subscribes it, I cannot know ; and perhaps I ought to make a long 
preface of apologies for the freedom I am going to take ; but as my 
heart means no offence, but on the contrary is rather too warmly 
interested in your favour, for that reason I hope you will forgive me 
when I tell you that I most sincerely and affectionately love you. I 

am a stranger in this matter, A , as I assure you that you are 

the first woman to whom I ever made such a declaration ; so I declare 
I am at a loss how to proceed. 

I have more than once come into your company with the 
resolution to say what I have just now told you ; but my resolution 
always failed me, and even now my heart trembles for the conse- 
quences of what I have said. I hope, my dear A , you will 

not despise me because I am ignorant of the flattering arts of court- 
ship : I hope my inexperience of the world will plead for me. I can 
only say I sincerely love you, and there is nothing on earth I so 
ardently wish for, or could possibly give me so much happiness, as 
one day to see you mine. 

I think you cannot doubt my sincerity, as I am sure that when- 
ever I see you, my very looks betray me ; and when once you are 
convinced I am sincere, I am perfectly certain you have too much 
goodness and humanity to allow an honest man to languish in 
suspense, only because he loves you too well. And I am certain 
that in such a state of anxiety as I myself at present feel, an absolute 
denial would be a much preferable state. 

Such is the letter in which Burns opens the correspondence 
with Miss Begbie. It is interesting as the earliest letter of the 
poet's which has been preserved ; and judging from the style of 



Burns at Galston. g 

the penmanship, as shown in the fac-simile given by Mr. Douglas, 
it seems to have been written in 1779 or 1780, when Burns was in 
his teens. The sentiments in the closing paragraph of this letter 
have been paraphrased in the concluding verse of the song, 
Alary Morison, which is understood to have been inspired by the 
poet's passion for Ellison Begbie : — 

O Mary, cans't thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake would gladly die ? 
Or cans't thou break that heart o' his 

Whose only fau't is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thocht ungentle canna be 

The thocht o' Mary Morison. 

In the foregoing letter, if Mr. Scott Douglas is correct, which I 
think he is, in supposing it to have been addressed to Miss Begbie, 
the reader will observe that Burns addressed her throughout as 
"A.," presumably the initial letter of " Allison." In the other four 
epistles, Miss Begbie is addressed as " E." This change was no 
doubt due to the poet observing that his correspondent signed 
her name "Ellison Begbie," and not "Allison Begbie," in accor- 
dance with the pronunciation of the Ayrshire peasantry, who have 
a tendancy to broaden the vowel sounds. This fact, trifling in 
itself, has not before been pointed out by any editor of the works 
of Burns. 

Passing over the intermediate letters, I extract the following 
passage from the fourth, which brought the matter to a climax : — 

There is one thing, my dear, which I earnestly request of you, 
and it is this, that you would soon either put an end to my hopes by 
a peremptory refusal, or cure me of my fears by a generous consent. 

Ellison, as we learn from the last letter of the series, did not 
keep her lover in suspense very long ; and her decision seems to 
have disconcerted the poet a little, for we find him beginning his 
last letter by apologising for the delay in answering hers, portions 
of which he quotes : — 

I ought in good manners to have acknowledged the receipt of 
your letter before this time, but my heart was so shocked with the 
contents of it, that I can scarcely yet collect my thoughts so as to write 
to you on the subject. I will not attempt to describe what I felt on 
receiving your letter. I read it over and over, again and again, and 
though it was in the politest language of refusal, still it was peremptory; 



io Burns at Gals ton. 

"you were very sorry you could not make me a return, but you 
wish me," what without you I never can obtain, "you wish me all 
kind of happiness." It would be weak and unmanly to say that without 
you I never can be happy ; but sure I am, that sharing life with you 
would have given it a relish, that, wanting you, I never can taste. 

Burns goes on to say, anent his prospective removal to Irvine 
in the autumn of 1781 : — 

I must now think no more of you as a mistress, still I presume to 
ask to be admitted as a friend. As such, I wish to be allowed to 
wait on you, and as I expect to remove in a few days a little farther 
off, and you, I suppose, will perhaps soon leave this place, I wish to 
see you or hear from you soon. 

And this ends the matter as related in the correspondence. 

Returning to the songs : the first that claims our attention is 
that entitled The Lass of Cessnock Ba?iks. This, a most 
beautiful lyric, has been justly styled "A Song of Similes," and was 
probably suggested to the poet by the warm imagery in Solomon's 
"Song of Songs." The eleventh verse — there are fourteen in all — 
is little more than a paraphrase of one of the verses of the song 
attributed to the Jewish Monarch : 

Bur?is— Her teeth are like a flock of sheep, 
With fleeces newly washen clean ; 
That slowly mount the rising steep ; 
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. 

Solomon — Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep which go up from 
the washing, whereof every one beareth twins, and there is 
not one barren among them. * 

A whole stanza is devoted to each of Ellison's charms, com- 
mencing with her "twa sparkling, roguish een," and embracing 
every personal and mental grace. At verse six, the poet comes to 
her hair, and thereafter in succession descants on hex forehead, her 
cheeks, her bosom, her lips, her teeth, her breath, her voice, and, 
lastly, her mind. 

Two of the verses must suffice for quotation here, chiefly on 
account of their localising the imagery, familiar to every native of 
Galston. In the manuscript the author has directed the words 
to be sung to the tune of, If he be a butcher neat and trim, whatever 
that may be. Any of our readers who have information on this 
point, will greatly oblige the writer, and the world at large, by 
making the same known, as no editor of Burns has ever been 

* Song of Songs, chap. 6, verse 6. 



Burns at Gals ton. 1 1 

able to trace the air here mentioned. I quote two of the verses, 
referring the reader to the poems of Burns for the others : — 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
An' she has twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush 
That sings on Cessnock banks unseen ; 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
An' she has twa sparkling, roguish een. 

In Bonnie Peggie Alison, the poet emphasises the heroine's 
" bonnie blue een," which, in his first song, are further described 
as "roguish." 

And by thy een sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I'm thine for ever, O ! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never, O. 

Chorus. 
And Pll kiss thee yet, yet, 

And P 11 kiss thee o'er again ; 
And Pll kiss thee yet, yet, 

My bonnie Peggie Alison. v 

But it is to the song on Mary Morison that the reader turns for 
Burns's purest and loveliest lyrical characterisation of Ellison 
Begbie, and the feelings inspired by her charms. I give this 
charming song in full : — 

O, Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see, 

That make the miser's treasure poor : 
How blythely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun, 
Could I the rich reward secure — 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string, 

The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 
To thee my fancy took its wing — 

I sat but neither heard nor saw : 
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 

And yon the toss of a' the town, 
I sigh'd, and said among them a' 

'Ye are na Mary Morison.' 



1.2 Burns at Gals ton. 

O, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or cans't thou break that heart o' his, 

Whose only fau't is loving thee? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thocht ungentle canna be 

The thocht o' Mary Morison. 

From all that can be learned concerning Ellison Begbie, she 
appears to have been a very superior young woman, and a general 
favourite in her neighbourhood. Cromek traced her out as a 
married lady resident in Glasgow, and from her own lips took 
down the song, The Lass of Cessnock Bank, to the extent of her 
recollection — that is, omitting the eighth and ninth stanzas as 
given in Pickering's Aldine Edition, in 1839, where it first 
appeared in a completed state, taken from the poet's manuscript. 
Cromek's version also contains a large number of variations from 
the generally accepted text. At verse nine, through an awkward 
inadvertency in transcribing, Pickering sets down " Her teeth," 
instead of "Her bosom," to which the similitude used very 
appropriately applies; as the teeth of his charmer have full justice 
done them in verse eleven, quoted above. This slip of the pen 
^n the transcriber's part, Mr. Douglas corrected for the first time. 
It is a matter of regret that nothing more seems to be known 
of Ellison than what Cromek made public, and the additional 
information given here. 

Mr. Campbell Wallace, a native of Galston district, has in his 
possession a small pocket Bible said to have been given by the 
poet to Ellison Begbie. It was given by her father to the late 
Mr. Jonn Gray, merchant in Glasgow, who gave it to Miss 
M'William, also of Glasgow, who in turn presented it to Mr. 
Wallace. This is all that seems to be known regarding the relic, 
which I have carefully examined; but which bears no marks or 
writing, like the Bibles presented to Highland Mary, throwing any 
light on its history. 

A little below the Giant's Cave, on the Cessnock, and not far 
from where the farm of Old Place stood, until the early years of 
the present century, when it was removed and incorporated with 
a neighbouring farm, is Craig Mill, also in Galston parish, hardly 
a vestige of which is now to be seen. A family of the name of 
Goldie were millers there for three centuries. Of the last of the 
family, John Goldie, who was born there in 17 17, we know a 



Bums at Galston. 13 

little, as he also has obtained undying celebrity in the writings of 
Burns. He showed an early aptitude for science and mechanical 
skill, and soon became an adept in geometry, architecture, and 
astronomy. While yet a young man, he removed to Kilmarnock, 
where he carried on business, first as a cabinetmaker, and after- 
wards as a wine and spirit merchant ; but all his leisure time was 
devoted to his favourite scientific pursuits and mechanical con- 
trivances. In his religious views he was originally orthodox, and 
walked all the way from his father's house to Kilmaurs to attend 
the Anti-burgher church there of which he was a member. When 
he was about fifty years old, his opinions underwent a radical 
change, and he swerved into free-thinking, through the study of 
Dr. Taylor of Norwich's work on Original Sin, a book extensively 
read in Ayrshire in the days of Burns, whose father had a copy 
which the poet read. Eventually, Goldie published, in 1780, his 
opinions in three volumes, a second edition of which, extending to 
six volumes, octavo, was published in 1785; and so famous did 
the work become, that it was popularly termed " Goudie's Bible ;*' 
and I have often thought that Carlyle's " M'Croudie's Bible," in 
Latter Day Pamphlets, is a reminiscence of the opprobrious 
epithet attaching to John Goldie's book. Meeting one day with 
a wag who had been purchasing some ballads at a stall, Goldie 
asked him what was this he had got, to which the wit replied : 
"I have just been buying a wheen ballads to make psalms for 
your Bible." 

It was on the appearance of the last edition of Goldie's Essays 
on Various Subjects, Moral and Divine, that Burns composed, in 
August, 1785, his epistle to the author, beginning: — 

O Goudie ! terror of the Whigs, 

Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs, 

Soor Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin', looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Turning aside from the banks of the Cessnock and the literary 
associations of Old Place and Craig Mill, and retracing our steps 
after this long digression, we continue our journey eastwards up 
the valley of the Irvine, with the undulating meadows fringing its 
banks on our left, and the wooded demesne of Holmes on our right, 
and a few minutes' walk brings us within sight of Galston. There, 
coming into view, on an elevated site, in the centre of the town> 



14 Burns at Galston. 

stands the parochial sanctuary, situated due east and west, the 
visible outcome of the Gospel of the Cross, preached by the saint 
to whom it was dedicated. Surrounding it are the narrow homes 
in which repose the remains of departed dalesmen. Around that, 
again, the village has clustered, nestling close to the church, named 
after St. Peter, the presiding genius of the place, who looks down 
patronisingly on the villagers, his stately spire, now lyart and grey, 
appropriately crowned with a brazen cock : the clouds passing 
overhead like silver-lined curtains drawn between him and the 
Eternal. 




The above illustration represents Galston Parish Church, as seen from near the Muckle Brig, 
on the north-side of the Irvine, at the confluence of that river with the Burn Awn. 



At the time when Burns was writing and publishing those won- 
derful poems which electrified his countrymen, the minister of 
Galston was the Rev. George Smith, who succeeded Dr. Wait, the 
former incumbent. Dr. Smith was a son of the manse, his father 
having been Mr. William Smith, minister of Cranstoun. His 
incumbency extended from 3rd February, 1778, when Burns was a 
young lad living at Lochlie, down to 1823, when the poet had 
been twenty-seven years in his grave, — when the Mausoleum had 
been erected, and the Cenotaph on the banks of Doon just com- 
pleted. Dr. Smith was a man of culture and refinement, and a 
devoted student of the classics. As may be imagined, his leanings 



Burns at Galston. 15 

were towards the New Light Party, by whom he was looked upon 
as one of their members. On this understanding, Burns meant to 
compliment the doctor in these stanzas from The Holy Fair : — 

But hark ! the tent has chang'd its voice, 

There's peace and rest nae longer ; 
For a' the real jttdges rise, 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smith opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs 

To gie the jars an' barrels 
A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine, 

Of moral -powers an' reason ? 
His English style, and gesture fine 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan heathen. 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 
That's right that day. 

Smith saw more of the banter than the compliment in them ; 
and, therefore, the poet had a slap at him in good earnest in The 
Kir Ms Alarm : — 

Irvine-side ! Irvine-side ! 

Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
Of manhood but sma 3 is your share ; 

Ye've the figure, 'tis true, 

Even your faes will allow, 
And your friends they dare grant you nae mair — 
Irvine-side ! your friends they dare grant you nae mair. 

And in The Twa Herds, Burns does not forget the subject of 
the above lines : — 

And mony a ane that I could tell 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forby turn-coats among oursel, — 

There's Smith for ane ; 
I doubt he's but a grey- neck guile, 

And that ye'll fin'. 

Dr. Smith, as Burns indicates in the verses quoted above from 
The Holy Fair, was a man of elocutionary power ; and many 



1 6 Burns at Galston. 

people came to church to hear him for that alone. There are many 
traditions in the district regarding his elocution, especially his 
splendid reading of the paraphrases, which appears to have been 
his most noteworthy distinction in the eyes of the inhabitants. 
He had a large family of sons and daughters. His sons came to 
honour. One of them was minister of the second charge of the 
Laigh Kirk, Kilmarnock, then of Penpont, and ultimately of the 
Tolbooth, Edinburgh. A picture of this son of the manse hangs 
in the Reading Room of Brown's Institute, Galston. Another of his 
sons, Mr. John Smith, the " Uncle John " mentioned in the speech 
of R. L. Stevenson, about to be given — was the last person to be 
buried in the old churchyard. Mr. Stevenson, the novelist, a few 
years before his lamented death, was the guest of the General 
Assembly of the Presbyterian Church, Sydney, at luncheon, when 
he delivered the following racy speech : — 

I thought when I came here to-day that perhaps a text would 
be suitable. (Laughter.) The first text that occurred to me was this, 
"Is Saul also among the prophets?" Then, upon second thoughts, 
which I believe we have the authority of our forefathers for saying are 
better thoughts, it occurred to me that I had a very good right to 
appear here. In the first place, I am a Scotsman— (cheers) — but 
upon that I will not dwell. (Cheers and laughter.) In the second 
place, I am an old, and I hope I may be allowed to say, a very good 
Presbyterian, the proof of which, I may say, is that I have sat out 
a sermon of an hour and thirty minutes. (Laughter.) It was 
delivered in the Parish Church of Leith, and by a remarkable 
coincidence, the Parish Church is still standing in support of my 
statement. (Laughter.) It was delivered by one of the most 
delightful old gentlemen I ever knew in my life. In the third place, 
I am a grandson of the manse, and a great-grandson of the manse. 
(Applause.) My grandfather was a minister of a parish close to 
Edinburgh. He was a nice old gentleman. (Laughter. ) As for my 
great-grandfather, he had been placed in an historical position by 
Robert Burns. Dr. Smith, of Galston, was my great-grandfather. 
(Applause.) But again, and in connection with this said family, I 
have a particular right and feel a particular pleasure in being 
connected with the Assembly. One of the sons of Dr. Smith, of 
Galston, my great-uncle John Smith, first of Glasgow, and then of 
Helensburgh, was the most absolute child of the Church that perhaps 
ever lived. I think he appeared in the General Assembly every year. 
I cannot remember when I was a child any year passing, but when 
John Smith came up to stay with my father and mother in order to 
attend the Assembly. Where he got his appointments I do not 
know, but there he was always to the fore-front. I remember a jest 
of my father's, who desired there should be laid before the Assembly 



Bums at Gals ton. iy 

on one occasion a report as to how many parishes (if any) John Smith 
had not assisted in the Sacrament. (Laughter.) He went every- 
where : he was always officiating elder. If there was no Sacrament, 
he would visit the manse, and always for certain he would visit the 
churchyard. He was very tall, very lean, but here comes a difference, 
very good-looking. (Laughter and cheers.) He had a long beard, 
and was a man of portentous solemnity. He once told me a good 
story against himself when he had made a visit to the churchyard. 
My uncle went down to the graveyard in some strange parish, and 
there found a worthy-looking gentleman engaged in digging a grave. 
"Have you had much affliction in the parish lately?" said my 
uncle. The man stopped, put down his spade, and looked up into 
his face, rubbed his hands, and replied, "Affliction! Why, 1 ha'na 
buried three since Lammas." (Laughter and cheers.) When I was 
invited to dine here to-day by the Moderator, it brought back to my 
mind a lively recollection of the name of Dr. Robert Lee, well known 
for his ritualistic tendencies, so unsuited to the Scottish temperament. 
When I was a young child, and, I may add, a very sickly child too, my 
uncle came up to the Session of the Assembly, as usual. I was lying 
in bed at the time, but, with his infinite good nature, before going 
to the Assembly, he came up to see me. He had a little conversation 
with me, and then when it was time to go to the Assembly, I shook 
my finger at him, and said, "Now, Uncle John, if you will take my 
advice, you will have nothing to do with that man Lee." (Laughter.) 
I have referred to the minister and his sermon of an hour and a half. 
I believe that of yore, our fathers were able to stand this manly and 
athletic exercise, but I think that for us and for the ladies, it would be 
best to avoid the excesses of our fathers, and therefore I will not 
weary you. (Cheers, and cries of " No," " Go on.") 

The present church of Galston was built in 1808, and occupies 
the site of the structure which existed in Burns's time.. The present 
manse was also built about the same time ; and the writer 
remembers, when a boy, having seen the crumbling walls of the 
old manse, which was situated at the back of the church, and at 
the head of an opening appropriately termed to this day the 
Old Manse Close. This old manse, then, was the residence of 
Dr. Smith, at the time he was earning the then unenviable 
distinction of having his portrait etched by Robert Burns. A 
highly-respected old gentleman, presently living in Galston, and 
holding a responsible public office there, has often told me that 
his mother, when a young girl, had been in the service of 
Dr. Smith, and that the poet's name was never mentioned in that 
household but in such terms of reproach as only the bitterest 



1 8 Burns at Galston. 

feelings could engender. In this connection, the reader will echo 
the sentiments of Carlyle, in his celebrated essay on the poet : — 

Alas ! when we think that Burns now sleeps, " where bitter indig- 
nation can no longer lacerate his heart/' and that most of those fair 
dames and frizzled gentlemen already lie at his side, where the breast- 
work of gentility is quite thrown down, — who would not sigh over the 
thin delusions and foolish toys that divide heart from heart, and 
make man unmerciful to his brother? 

The present minister of Galston is the Rev. J. A. Hogg, B. D., 
a man who has endeared himself to the parishioners by the 
benevolence of his conduct and the attractiveness of his discourses. 
Mr Hogg succeeded the Rev. John Brown, B. D., now of 
Bellahouston, Glasgow, to whose interesting little book, Three 
Ce7ituries of Clerical Life in Galston, I am indebted for some of 
the information incorporated into the present notes. 

In the Old Manse Close there also resided, at a late period of 
his life, the John Rankine to whom Burns addressed several poems, 
among others, the lines beginning : — 

O rough, rude, ready-witted Rankin, 
The wale o' cocks for fun an' drinkin' ! 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin' 

Your dreams an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a sinkin' 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Before retiring to Galston, Rankine had farmed Adamhill, in the 
parish of Craigie, and not far from Lochlie, where the poet resided, 
when he made the acquaintance of Rankine, on whose daughter 
Annie he composed a highly-coloured song, descriptive of a 
nocturnal ramble in her company. From all I can learn regarding 
Rankine, by those who knew him during his residence in Galston, 
he was fully entitled to the credit of all that has been said of him, 
both by the poet and his editors. John Rankine, also, like Ellison 
Begbie, has left a memorial of his residence at Irvineside, in the 
form of his eight-day clock, now in the possession of a much- 
respected inhabitant, Mr John W. Lyon, whose wife is a niece of 
Rankine's daughter. Mr Campbell Wallace, already mentioned, 
has the same worthy's toddy-dividers, and is also the possessor of 
Nance Tannock's gill-stoup. 

Another individual belonging to Galston, and whose connection 
with Burns was first made public by the present writer in an article 
which he contributed to the Glasgow Weekly Herald, June 30th, 






Bums at Galston. 19 

1894, may be here referred to. The article deals with a hitherto 
unrecorded incident in the life of Burns, during the period of his 
residence at Mossgiel, which shows the character of the poet in a 
light everywhere reflected in his writings, and has reference to the 
fortunes of " Wee Davock," an individual, mention of whom in 
his poem called The Inve?itory^ has been passed over by every 
editor of the life and works of Burns. In May, 1785, with a view 
to liquidate ten millions of unfunded debt, Mr. Pitt, the Prime 
Minister, made a large addition to the number of taxed articles, 
and amongst these were female servants. It therefore became the 
duty of his friend and patron, Mr. Robert Aiken, as surveyor of 
the district in which Burns lived, to serve the usual notice on the 
poet, who on receipt of it made his return in the amusing poem 
already mentioned, in which he gives 

A faithfu' list 
O' gudes an gear and a' my graith, 
To which I'm clear to gi'e my aith. 

He goes on to say :■ — 

For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Run-deils for rantin' an' for noise ; 
Agaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other : 
Wee Davock hauds the nowt in fother. 
I rule them as I ought, discreetly, 
And often labour them completely ; 
An' aye on Sundays duly, nightly, 
I on the "Questions" targe them tightly ; 
Till, faith ! Wee Davock grown sae gleg, 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 
He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. 

The infant prodigy whose progress in theological matters is here 
so graphically narrated, was one of four orphan children, named 
Robert, David, Janet, and Agnes Hutchieson, who were left in 
charge of Burns. Their father had acted as ploughman to the 
Burns family when they lived in Lochlie; and when Hutchieson's 
health broke down, through fever, the poet took Janet, the eldest, 
and David, the youngest, under his care. Neither were ever at 
school, but, according to local tradition, Burns made fairly good 
scholars of both. Janet remained in the service of the Burns 
family for some years, and latterly died in Old Cumnock. David 
acted as herd laddie, an occupation suited to his tender years. 
The other two were employed by neighbouring farmers, and all of 
them turned out useful and respected members of society, in which 



20 



Burns at Galston. 



some of their descendants have made a most respectable figure. 
"Wee Davock," who was never married, died at Galston, in the 
house of his brother Robert, a local Radical of note, as were many 
of the Galstonians in the early decades of the present century. 
Robert's political opinions led to his voluntary expatriation, and 
he died in America. "Wee Davock" had a pot — a common 
stew-pot — which he got from Burns. This relic is now the 
property of a lady who values it very highly — a grand-daughter of 
Robert Hutchieson, David's eldest brother. It may be worth 
while noting here, that another form of the name of the family 
protected by Burns, is the appellation of his sole-surviving 
male descendant, Robert Burns Hutchinson, only son of Mrs. 
Hutchinson, daughter of Colonel James Glencairn Burns, the 
poet's third son. 




Mrs. Hutchinson, the interesting lady here referred to, presented 
the present writer with a tumbler, originally the property of our 
National Poet. As any relic of Burns, by whomsoever possessed, 
is of deep interest to admirers of the poet, I make no apology 
for presenting the reader with a detailed and illustrated 



Burns at Galston. 



21 



gathered together in 




the little Burns Collection 
my home at Galston. 
in a handsome oak- 
velvet, and secured 
side of the tumbler 
larged copy of the 
Arms, as it is styled 
which an illustration 
on the other side 
tion is cut out on 



account of this relic, preserved 
which I have 
The relic is enclosed 
case, lined with green 
by a lock. On one 
is engraved an en- 
Poet's Seal, or Burns' 
by the family, of 
is here given, and 
the following inscrip- 
the glass : — 

The above illustration is reproduced from an article on Burns's Seal which the writer 
contributed to The Jotcrtial of the Ex-Libris Society for August, 1893. This article is 
reprinted in Dr. Ross' Bzirtisiana, vol. v., pp. 73-75. 

This glass, once the property of 

Robert Burns, 

was presented by the 

Poet's Widow 

To James Robinson, Esq., 

and given by his 

Widow 

To her Son-in law, 

Major James Glencairn Burns, 

1840. 

The following letter, in the holograph of the donor, gives the 
history of the relic : — 

3, Berkeley Street, 
Cheltenham, July 6, 1802. 

My Dear Mr. MuiR, — .... I purpose sending you by the 
Parcels Post to-night, enclosed in a box, a tumbler that belonged to 
my grandfather the Poet, and hope you will accept it from me. 

I believe he had four of them, but one has been broken. The one 
I now send you was given by my grandmother, Jean Armour, to Mr. 
James Robinson of Sunderland. He was father of my mother, who 
died when I was born. 

When my father returned from India, his mother-in-law, Mrs. 
Robinson, gave this tumbler to my father, and he had the inscription 

and his father's coat-of-arms engraved on the glass Now for 

the history of the box. It was made from one of the piles of old 
London Bridge. The light pieces of oak are from the " Royal George." 
My father had them given him by friends 

Yours sincerely, 

S. Hutchinson. 

Besides the tumbler, 1 have a large and interesting collection of 
letters from the descendants of the poet and collateral branches of 



22 Burns at Galston. 

his family ; but such of these as are not on private matters relating 
either to the writers or their illustrious ancestor, are of no interest 
to the public. Besides, they are private and confidential com- 
munications, and will always be considered as such by their 
possessors. I may, however, give the title-pages of two editions 
of Burns in my small collection, not on account of their rarity and 
scarcity, but simply on account of their not being in the three 
chief Burns collections in the world — the British Museum, London; 
M'Kie Burnsiana Library, Kilmarnock; and the Mitchell Library, 
Glasgow; and for that reason they are probably not so well known 
to collectors as more valuable works. 

THE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS, the Ayrshire 
Bard : including all the Pieces originally published by Dr. Currie ; 
with various Additions. A New Edition, with an enlarged and 
corrected Glossary, and a Biographical Sketch of the Author. [8vo.] 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, 

That's a' the learning I desire ; 

Then tho' I drudge through dub an' mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My muse, tho' hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart. 

London : Jones & Company. 1823. 

THE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS, the Ayrshire 
Bard : including all the Pieces originally published by Dr. Currie ; 
with various Additions. A New Edition, with an enlarged and 
corrected Glossary, and a Biographical Sketch of the Author. [8vo.] 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire, 

That's a' the learning I desire ; 

Then tho' I drudge through dub and mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My muse, tho' hamely in attire, 
May touch the heart. 

London: Jones & Company. 1827. 

To these may be added copies of the title-pages of five trans- 
lations of Burns in the same collection. 

ZATERDAGAVOND OP HET LAND. VRIJ BEWERKT 
NAAR, ROBERT BURNS, door Pol de Mont. [Quarto.] 

Amsterdam: S. Warendorf, Jr. N.D. 

The "Cottar's Saturday Night" translated into Dutch. Illustrated. 

NAGRA DIKTER AF ROBERT BURNS. Ofversattning. [Svo.] 
Stockholm: Klemmings Antiquariat. 1872. 

Translation into Swedish, by G. M. O. Elizabeth Retzins. 



Burns at Gals ton. 23 

ROBERT BURNS' GEDICHTE IN AUSWAHL. Deutsch von 
Gustav Legerlotz. [8vo.] 

Leipzig: Otto Spamer. 1889. 

German translation (selected) by my friend, Dr. Legerlotz. 

ROBERT BURNS : Vybor z Pisni a Ballad. Prelozil Jos. V. 
Sladek. [8vo.] 

Praze: Nakladatelstvi J. Otto Knightiskarna. [1892.] 

Svazek 12. Sbornik Svetone Poesie Vydava Ceska Akademie Cisare Frantiska Josefa 
Pro. Vedy, Slovesnost a Umeni. Rocknik II. Trida IV. Cislo 6. 

The last paragraph of the preface contains this reference to Mr. Edmond Gosse, and Mr. 
John Muir, late editor of the Burns Chronicle : — Za pratelskou pomoc, ktere se mi ochotne 
dostalo z Anglice od basnika Ed. W. Gosse a vydavatele " Burnsovy Kroniky" pana Johna 
Muira z Kilmarnocku. Vzdavam vrele diky. 

The above work is a rendering of Burns into Cech (the language of Bohemia), the first 
Slavonic language into which the works of Burns have been translated. The translator is 
Professor Sladek, the Bohemian lyrical poet, whose "Mickiewicz: Konrad Wallenrod," forms 
number 2 of the same series as this Burns volume. M. Sladek's last work, "Ceske Pisne " 
(National Lyrics), is "Dedicated to John Muir, the Pioneer of Bohemia's cause in Scotland." 

POESIE DI ROBERTO BURNS. Prima Versione Italiana, di 
Ulisse Ortensi, Vice Bibliotecario Reggente della Biblioteca Gover- 
nativa de Cremona. Parte Prima. [Sm. 8vo.] 

Modena : E. SARASINO. 1893. 

Preface in English by John Muir, F.S.A., Scot. 

Haifa mile from Galston, along the road running eastwards to 
Newmilns, is situated Barr Mill, once the home of the hero of 
one of the very finest humorous ballads in the whole range of 
Scots minstrelsy. I cannot resist the temptation to give the ballad 
in full, followed by the remarks anent it from the pen of our poet: — 

I had a horse, and I had nae mair, 

I gat him frae my daddy ; 
My purse was light and my heart was sair, 

But my wit it was fu' ready. 
And sae I thought me on a time, 

Outwittens o' my daddy, 
To fee myseF to a Highland laird 

Wha had a bonnie lady. 

I served twa years the Highland laird, 

Though meat and fee were scanty ; 
His service had been drudgery 

But for his wife sae canty ; 
For me her kindly words, I trow, 

And smiles were aye sae ready ; 
My lips like tinder took the lowe 

To kiss the bonnie lady. 
I wrote a letter, and thus began : 

" Madame, be not offended, 
• I'm o'er the lugs in love wi' you, 

And care na though you kend it ; 



24 Bums at Galsion. 

For I get little frae the laird, 

And far less frae my daddy, 
And I wad blythely be the man 

Wad strive to please my lady." 

She read my letter and she leuch : 

" Ye needna been sae blate, man ; 
Ye might hae come to me yoursel', 

And told me o' your state, man ; 
You might hae come to me yourseF, 

Outwitten o' ony body, 
And made Jock Gowksto7i o' the laird 

And kiss'd his bonnie lady." 

Then she put siller in my purse, 

We drank wine in a cogie ; 
She fie'd a man to rub my horse, 

And vow but I was vogie. 
But I gat ne'er sae sair a fleg, 

Since I cam frae my daddy, 
The laird cam rap, rap, to the yet 

When I was wi' his lady. 

Then she put me below a chair, 

And happ'd me wi' a plaidie, 
But I was like to swarf wi' fear, 

And wished me wi' my daddy. 
The laird gaed out, he saw na me, 

I gaed when I was ready ; 
I promised, but I ne'er gaed back, 

To kiss his bonnie lady. 

Burns remarks on this clever production : — 

A John Hunter, ancestor to a very respectable farming family 
who lived in a place in the parish of Galston called Barr Mill, was 
the luckless hero that "had a horse and had nae mair." For some 
little youthful follies, he found it necessary to make a retreat to the 
West Highlands, where he "feed himself to a Highland laird." The 
present Mr. Hunter, who told me the anecdote, is the great grand- 
child to our hero. 

In the above note, Burns states that the facts recorded were 
communicated to him by Mr. Hunter. This Hunter may have 
been a subscriber for the poet's first edition, and may have been 
visited by Burns when collecting the monies mentioned in a letter 
to Mr. Robert Muir, dated March 7th, 1788: — 

There are several small sums owing me for my first edition about 
Galston and Xewmills. 



Burns at Galston. 25 

Farther along the same road, the oldest paper mill in Ayrshire 
is passed, and near it the residence of Mr. John Macintosh, the 
artist-poet, from one of whose books I borrow this Burns 
acrostic : — 

R obbed with her inspiration rod, 

O Id Poesy stood awhile, 

B efore a genius' bright abode, 

E Ise home of mental toil. 

R est ever with me, here, thou gentle muse, 

T he poet said, and Poesy answered thus : 

B right soul, beholden to my spell, 
U nsullied be thy fame ; 
R eign here, O inspiration still, 
N or ever bid the heart farewell, 
S uch honour that can claim. * 

Leaving the paper mill, the Greenholm part of Newmilns (but 
in Galston parish) is reached. Near Newmilns railway station is 
the scene of Ramsay's popular song, The Lass of Patie's Mill. 
The present mill is modern, and occupies the site of the erection 
which graced the banks of the Irvine in Ramsay's day ; but the 
field where the rustic beauty was making hay, when she attracted 
the attention of the Earl of Loudon, is still pointed out ; and 
although nearly two hundred years have passed since that event, 
the student of Scots minstrelsy stops by the bank of the stream 
and enquires for the song-hallowed scene. I give the song, but 
it can hardly be new to any of my readers. 

The lass of Patie's mill, 

So bonny, blyth and gay, 
In spite of all my skill, 

Hath stole my heart away. 
When tedding of the hay 

Bare-headed in the green, 
Love 'midst her locks did play, 

And wanton'd in her een. 

Her arms, white, round and smooth, 

Breasts rising in their dawn, 
To age it would give youth, 

To press them with his hand. 
Thro' all my spirits ran 

An extasy of bliss, 
When I such sweetness found 

Wrapt in a balmy kiss. 

* From Poems, by John Macintosh, 1890, page 216. 



26 Burns at Gals ton. 

Without the help of art, 

Like flowers which grace the wild, 
She did her sweets impart, 

Whene'er she spoke or smil'd. 
Her looks they were so mild, 

Free from affected pride, 
She me to love beguil'd 

I wish'd her for my bride. 

I quote this song as printed in a work which seems to have 
escaped the notice of the bibliographers of the Kilmarnock press. 
The title page runs thus : — ■ 

THE TEA-TABLE MISCELLANY: A Collection of Choice Songs, 
Scots and English, in two volumes, by Allan Ramsay. The Seven- 
teenth Edition. Kilmarnock: Printed by J. Wilson, mdccxxxviii. 

The story of the circumstances which led to the composition of 
this song as described by Burns is well known. The poet says : — 

The following anecdote I had from the present Sir William 
Cunningham, of Robertland, who had it from the last John, Earl of 
Loudon. The then Earl of Loudon — father to the Earl John before 
mentioned — had Ramsay at Loudon, and one day walking together by 
the banks of Irvine water, near Newmilns, at a place called " Patie ; s 
Mill," they were struck with the appearance of a beautiful country 
girl. His Lordship observed that she would be a fine theme for a 
song. Allan lagged behind in returning to Loudon Castle, and at 
dinner produced this identical song. 

To the south-east of the parish, and rising up gradually from 
the valley of the Irvine, is a large expanse of land, known as the 
Galston Muirs, over which the poet rode one stormy night after 
leaving the hospitable manse of Dr. Laurie, with the stern 
Farewell singing through his soul. His poem, The Holy Fair, 
opens with a most exquisite picture of a summer morning, in 
which he mentions this wide belt of heather and moss : — 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn, 

An' snuff the caller air. 
The rising sun, owre Galston Muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin' ; 
The hares were hirplin down the furrs, 

The lav'rocks they were chantin' 
Fu' sweet that day. 



Burns at Gals ton. 27 

Any Burnsiana notes on Galston parish would be incomplete 
which did not refer, however briefly, to the numerous tributes to 
the High Chief of Scottish Song which have been paid by the 
Galston Bards — John Wright, Alexander Stewart ("Galstonian"), 
J. H. Green (widely known under the pen name, "The Ayrshire 
Vagrant"), John Macintosh ("Rusticus"), and John Ramsay 
Reid. John Wright's effusions are well known, and Mr. Macintosh 
I have already laid under contribution. The limits of my space 
compel me to confine myself to one example, taken from the 
poems * of Mr. Stewart, who undoubtedly ranks after John 
Wright, as the best poet Galston has produced. His pictures 
framed in the Doric are admirable productions; and some of the 
stanzas in the epistle to Adam Miller would do no discredit to 
Burns himself. 

TO BURNS. 

( Written for Galston Burns Club, 25th January, 1878.) 

Oh ! many a social band to-night 

Is gathered round the festive board ; 
Each eye reflects the cheerful light, 

Each heart responds to memory's chord ; 
From every lip there breathes a name 

To which affection fondly turns : 
The first on Scotland's roll of fame, 

Old Coila's minstrel, Robin Burns. 

. We blend our voices with the streams 

Which wander 'mong our leafy braes, 
For every spot he loved now seems 

To speak of him and sing his praise : 
Where Nith and Lugar onward croon, 

Where flows in peace the winding Ayr, 
Where spread the banks o' bonnie Doon, 

His spirit seems to wander there. 

Oh, Burns ! though o'er thy silent bed 

The frosty winds of winter sigh, 
Though dead — But no ! thou art not dead, 

For what is deathless cannot die ! 
The products of thy wondrous mind 

Still breathe and burn in every part, 
Thy hallowed memory lives enshrined 

In every faithful Scottish heart. 

* Bygone Memories, 1888, page 212. 



28 Burns at Gals ton. 

Thy songs of love, how sweet they fall 

Like dewdrops on the fainting flowers ; 
Even age by thee would fain recall 

Sweet feelings of some earlier hours, 
Which onward in the bosom leap 

Like kindlings of a smouldering fire ; 
Alternately we laugh and weep, 

As thy swift fingers touch the lyre. 

Loved Scotia's Bard !— may son and sire, 

Possess (with other gifts beside) 
Thy fervent patriotic fire, 

Thy manly independent pride ; 
This night thy name again we breathe, 

To thee the star of memory turns, 
For thee we twine the fadeless wreath, 

And pledge thy memory, Robert Burns. 

Having said so much regarding Burns and his connection with 
the town and parish of Galston, the reader will naturally expect 
to hear, that a district so redolent of the poet, and reminiscent of 
those who are celebrated in his writings, is well supplied with 
Burns Clubs. The truth is, there is not now a Burns Club in 
the whole parish. That there was such a society at one time, may be 
gathered from the sub-title of Mr. Stewart's poem ; but it is now 
defunct, and if there has been any effort made to resuscitate it or 
to organise a new one, I have never heard of the movement. 
Surely Galston, on the eve of the Centenary of Burns's death, is 
earning an unenviable distinction, as the only parish in broad 
Scotland, with nearly six thousand inhabitants, which has not a 
Burns Society. Apart from other considerations, which need not 
be particularised here, but which would outweigh every other 
reason, the facts imperfectly narrated in the foregoing article 
would in themselves be sufficient justification to the intelligence 
of the most obtuse of villagers for the establishment of such a 
Society on a firm and permanent basis. 

Although there is no Burns Club in Galston, the inhabitants 
are not altogether without a due appreciation of the poet's merits, 
and the glory reflected on the district by the splendour of his 
genius. At the Birth-Centenary in 1859, three different celebrations 
of the event were held in Galston; and perhaps at the forthcoming 
Centenary, on 21st July, the number may be doubled. 



BURN5 AT ECCLEFECHAN 



TOWARDS the close of last century, Ecclefechan presented 
an appearance differing little from its aspect to-day. Lying 
in a hollow surrounded by wooded slopes, it consisted of 
two rows of houses of a plain, unornamental character, which were 
annually whitewashed in honour of the village fair. Down one 
side of this single street, at that period, ran an open brook, which 
has been immortalised in Sartor Resartus as " the little Kuhbach, " 
but which is now, for sanitary reasons, built over. The street is 
irregularly formed — a circumstance due not only to the disposition 
of the houses, but also to the windings of the little stream which 
gushes kindly by, wimpling and gurgling on its way to join the 
Mein water at the foot of the town, before the Mein loses itself in 
the river Annan. On the west side of the burn the houses are of 
single and two storeys almost alternately, presenting a peculiarly 
notched appearance, and when seen from a distance, resembling 
the battlements of an imposing fortress. 

In this little village the poet Burns might frequently have been 
seen during the last years of his life, while acting temporarily as 
supervisor during the illness of that official. He made at least 
two visits to Ecclefechan, a record of which has been preserved in 
print. One of these is recorded by an individual who was lying 
in the womb of eternity at the time of the poet's first recorded 
visit ; and the other, which took place in the early spring of the 
year prior to his death, has been recorded by Burns himself. On 
the day following his entry into Ecclefechan, he had the misfortune 
to be snowed up ; and, to break the monotony of his enforced 
imprisonment in the village inn, he imbibed to an extent which 
has left perceptible traces of a suggestive nature on the caligraphy 
of the following letter — a strange mixture of humour, exaggeration, 
and unconscious ungratefulness : — 

Ecclefechan, February 7, 17%. 
My Dear Thomson, — You cannot have any idea of the predica- 
ment in which I write you. In the course of my duty as supervisor 
(in which capacity I have acted of late), I came yesternight to this 
unfortunate, wicked little village. I would have gone forward, but 
snows of ten feet deep have impeded my progress. I have tried to 
"gae back the gate I cam' again," but the same obstacle has shut me 
up within insuperable bars. To add to my misfortune, since dinner, a 
scraper has been torturing cat-gut, in sounds that would have insulted 
the dying agonies of a sow under the hand of a butcher, and thinks 



30 Burns at Ecclefechan. 

himself, o?i that very account, exceeding good company. In fact, I 
have been in a dilemma, either to get drunk, to forget my miseries ; 
or to hang myself, to get rid of them. Like a prudent man (a character 
congenial to my every thought, word, and deed), I, of two evils, have 
chosen the least, and am very drunk, at your service ! 

I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell 
you all I wanted to say ; and, heaven knows, at present I have not 
capacity. 

Do you know an air — I am sure you must know it — " We'll gang 
nae mair to yon town ? " I think, in slowish time, it would make an 
excellent song. I am highly delighted with it; and if you should think 
it worthy of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye to whom I 
would consecrate it ; try it with this doggrel, until I give you a better. 
You will find a good set of it in Bowie's collection. 

Chorus — O wat ye wha's in yon town, 

Ye see the e'enin' sun upon ; 
The dearest maid's in yon town 
That e'enin' sun is shinin on.' 

O sweet to me yon spreading tree, 
Where Jeanie wanders aft her lane ; 

The hawthorn flower that shades her bower, 
O when shall I behold again ? 

O wat ye wha's, &c. 

As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night. R. B. 

P.S. — As I am likely to be storm-staid here to-morrow, if I am in 
the humour, you shall have a long letter from me. R. B. 

It is a curious circumstance that the sin of intemperance should 
have been associated with Ecclefechan in the poet's mind. In one 
of his unpublishable songs he thus refers to it : — 

Then up we raise, and took the road, 

And in by Ecclefechan, 
Where the brandy-stoup we gar'd it clink, 

And Strang beer ream the quick in. 

Burns next morning did not apparently find himself in the 
humour for literary exertion (how could he, if the above account 
is to be trusted ? ), as no other communication from him bearing 
the Ecclefechan post-mark ever reached Mr. Thomson, who used 
to boast in after years that all the letters and songs which he had 
received from the poet were in his possession, and that he would 
not part with them for love or money. 

Our readers, knowing the poet's unreserve, will not, we think, 
be disposed to accept the above statements as a circumstantial 
account of the conditions under which the letter was written. 



Burns at Ecclefechan. 



3i 



Could any man, in the situation described by Burns, have written 
such a letter? We opine not. Neither could a tipsy man have 
composed the lines in honour of Chloris, a sample of which is 
given in the letter just quoted. All the same, it is to be regretted 
that our poet so far forgot himself as to call sweet Ecclefechan by 
the uncomplimentary epithets he has used in describing that now 
famous village. Little did he dream, in his barleycornian 
humour, of the destinies of Ecclefechan infants, one of whom, 
named Thomas Carlyle, born on the 4th of December of the 
very year of Burns's unlucky visit, was afterwards to be known to the 
world as the most sympathetic interpreter of his life and writings. 




I am indebted to the kind courtesy of the proprietors and editor of Scottish Nights, for the 
loan of the block from which the illustration given above is taken. Also, to Miss Froude, 
who holds the copyright, for permission to reproduce the portrait here, and in an article on 
Carlyle's Life by the present writer which appeared in the miscellany named, on Dec. 6, 1894. 

Ecclefechan, even in Burns's time, as the poet must have known 
in his sober moments, was by no means so contemptible as he 
would have us suppose. No less than four individuals, whose 
names and deeds have been rescued from oblivion, and who 
accompanied Burns part of the way in his all too brief earthly 
pilgrimage, were born in or near Ecclefechan, namely; Janet Little, 



32 Burns at Ecclefechan. 

the Scotch milkmaid, who corresponded with, and addressed 
several poems to Burns; and William Nicol ("Willie brewed a 
peck o' maut"). But it is chiefly as having been the birthplace of 
Dr. James Currie, of Liverpool, the amiable editor of Burns's Works, 
and the most effective friend of the poet's family, that Ecclefechan 
interests admirers of Burns. Its crowning glory is, however, that 
it was there Thomas Carlyle was born, and lies buried beside the 
dust of his kindred in the quiet little churchyard. 

Nor was Ecclefechan and the Carlyles without their influence on 
Burns's muse. A real or imaginary damsel of that ilk, named "Lucky 
Laing," was the heroine of a little anonymous song first published 
in Johnso??s Musical Museum, but now considered by the majority 
of competent critics to be from the pen of Burns. After our 
poet's description of the village, the reader will perhaps be 
prepared not to expect too much in the matter of minstrelsy ; for 
what " wicked little village " could be otherwise than disappointing 
in respect of its bonnie lassies? Here is the song : — 

Gat ye me, O gat ye me, 
O gat ye me wi' naething ? 

Rock and reel, and spinning wheel, 
A mickle quarter basin : 

Bye attour, my gutcher has 
A high house and a laigh ane, 

A' forbye my bonnie sel', 
The toss of Ecclefechan. 

haud yer tongue now, Luckie Laing, 

haud yer tongue and jauner ; 

1 held the gate till you I met, 

Syne I began to wander : 
I tint my whistle and my sang, 

1 tint my peace and pleasure ; 

- But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing, 
Wad airt me to my treasure. 

This little song, says a critic, although not of the highest order, 
is dramatically perfect, both in style and humour. The majority 
of our readers, however, may not quite appreciate the dialogue. 
In the first stanza, " Lucky Laing, " who boasts to her husband 
scornfully of her wealth and personal attractions, is the speaker. 
In the second stanza the disconsolate husband replies, and intimates 
that her demise would enable him to marry again more according 
to his own inclination. In the last verse of the song, There grows 
a bonnie brier bush, the hero is made to ask : — 

Will ye go to the dancin' in Carlyle's ha' ? 

Will ye go to the dancin' in Carlyle's ha' ? 

Whare Sandy and Nancy I'm sure will ding them a' ! 

I winna gang to the dance in Carlyle's ha'. 



Burns at Ecclefechan, 33 

It is not improbable that Burns, as he sat at the window of the 
village inn on that bleak February day, more than a hundred years 
ago, enjoying his post-prandial glass, and watching the snowflakes 
melting in the spated stream, may perhaps have cast his eyes on a 
whitewashed, two-storey house on the opposite side of the street, a 
little way from the hostelry. If he did, he may have observed a 
man with a stern, resolute face ; clear, intelligent eyes ; and a 
strong rather than refined, but not coarse, mouth. This man, a 
stone-mason to trade, is well known to his neighbours as a person 
of great force of character, and much respected in the district, not 
less for his moral worth than for his natural strength of intellect. 
He is one year older than the poet, but out-lived his ill-starred 
contemporary thirty-six years. James Carlyle, the name of the 
individual we have endeavoured to describe, chanced on one of 
Burns's visits to Ecclefechan to see the subject of his eldest son's 
future essay and lecture. But I cannot do better than allow the 
younger Carlyle to contrast these two remarkable men, and his 
reflections thereon, for James Carlyle, in his own way, was quite 
as remarkable as Robert Burns : — 

The more I reflect on it, the more must I admire how com- 
pletely nature had taught my father ; how completely he was devoted 
to his work, to the task of his life ; and content to let all pass by 
unheeded, that had not relation to this. It is a singular fact, for 
example, that though a man of such openness and clearness, he had 
never, I believe, read three pages of Bums' s Poems. Not even 
when all about him became noisy and enthusiastic (I the loudest) * 
on that matter, did he feel it worth his while to renew his investigations 
of it, or once turn his face towards it. The poetry he liked (he did 
not call it poetry) was truth and the wisdom of reality. Burns, 
indeed, could have done nothing for him. As high a greatness hung 
over his world as over that of Burns (the everlasting greatness of the 
Infinite itself) : neither was he, like Burns, called to rebel against 
the world, but to labour patiently at his task there ; " uniting the 
possible with the necessary " to bring out the real (wherein also lay 
an ideal). Burns could not have in any way strengthened him in his 
course ; and therefore was for him a phenomenon merely. Nay» 
rumour had been so busy with Burns, and destiny and his own 
desert had in very deed so marred his name, that the good rather 
avoided him. Yet it was not with aversion that my father 
regarded Burns ; at worse, with indifference and neglect. I 
have heard him speak of once seeing him : standing at " Rob 
Scott's smithy" (at Ecclefechan, no doubt superintending some 
work), he heard someone say, " There is the poet Burns ;" he 

* The reference here is to the Carlyle's essay on the poet, which appeared in the 
Edinburgh Review, for December, 1828. 



34 



Burns at Ecclefechan. 



went out to look, and saw a man with boots on, like a well-dressed 
farmer, walking down the village on the opposite side of the burn. 
This was all the relation these two men ever had : they were very 
nearly coevals. I knew Robert Burns, and I knew my father ; yet 
were you to ask me which had the greater natural faculty, I might 
perhaps actually pause before replying ! Burns had a infinitely 
wider education ; my father a far wholesomer : besides, the one was 
a man of musical utterance, and the other wholly a man of action, 
even with speech subservient thereto. Never, of all the men I have 
seen, has one come personally in my way in whom the endowment 
from nature and the arena from fortune were so utterly out of all 
proportion. I have said this often ; and partly know it. As a man 
of speculation (had culture ever unfolded him) he must have gone 
wild and desperate like Burns : but he was a man of conduct, and 
work kept all right. What strange, shapeable creatures we are ! 




It should be explained, with reference to Carlyle's remark that 
his father and the poet "were very nearly coevals," that Burns was 
born in 1759, and died in 1796; and that James Carlyle, who was 
born in 1758, died in 1832, at the age of seventy-four. 

With reference to the proposed song on "The Fair Dame," whom 
Burns had in his eye as an artistic model during his inauspicious 
visit to Ecclefechan, and of which mention is made in his letter, 
the following bibliographical notes, which can hardly be familiar 
to many of our readers, are culled by the writer from a collection of 



Burns at EcclefecJiau. 35 

chap-books, mostly bearing the imprint of Brash &: Reid, Glasgow, 
but, unfortunately, nearly all without dates. One of these little 
publications contains "two favourite songs by Robert Burns," 
namely, O wat ye who's in yon toun ? and Open the door to ?ne, oh! 
As we have seen from the letter to Thomson, the first of these 
lyrics was primarily intended to celebrate the charms of Miss 
Lorimer, but was afterwards, as we shall see, made to serve the 
double purpose of a tribute of the poet's admiration of the beauti- 
ful Lucy Johnston, wife of Richard A. Oswald, of Auchencruive, 
at that time residing in Dumfries ; and that when Burns sent it 
for insertion in Johnson's Museum, he again made Miss Lorimer 
the heroine by altering the name of "Lucy "to "Jean" and 
" Jeanie " — for Jean Lorimer, the poet's Chloris. 

In May, 1795, Burns enclosed the song in a letter to John Syme, 
asking him whether he thought he might venture to present it to 
Mrs. Oswald ; but no mention has been made by any editor of 
Burns's works of the interesting fact that the song was first printed 
in the Glasgow Magazine for September, 1795, with "Jean" and 
"Jeanie" substituted for "Lucy," and a few other necessary modi- 
fications. The song will be found on page 155, volume L, of 
this scarce Glasgow periodical (a copy of which lies before me), 
under the heading of " Song, by Robert Burns (never before 
published)." This gives us a probable clue to the date of the 
chap-book edition, the song in which is an exact reproduction of 
the version given in the Glasgow Magazine. The probability 
is, therefore, that it was printed from the last-named publication 
before its appearance in Johnson's Museum, December, 1796. 

In the copy written for Mrs. Oswald, the third line of the 
chorus reads : — 

The fairest dame's in yon toun. 

In the Glasgow publication, as in the letter to Thomson : — 

The fairest maid's in yon toun. 
line two of the third verse (not reckoning the chorus, with which 
the song begins) : — 

And on yon bonnie banks of Ayr. 
Line four : — 

And dearest bliss is Lucy fair. 

These read in the Glasgow Magazine : — 

Among the broomy braes sae green ; 
And dearest treasure is my Jean. 
The chap-book has "pleasure" (probably a misprint) for 

"treasure." Next verse, third line, for " Lucy," " Jeanie ;" next 



36 Burns at Ecclefechan. 

verse, fourth line, for " tend,"" tent ;" last verse but one, fourth 
line, for "Lucy," " Jeanie;" and first line of last verse : — 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 

read in the magazine and chap-book : — 

For while life's dearest blood runs warm. 

Mr. Scott Douglas, in his Library Edition of the Works* of 
Burns, appends a long note to this song, in which he remarks 
that " it was no unusual thing with Burns to shift the devotion of 
a verse from one person to another ; " but, like all other commen- 
tators on the poet's writings, he evidently believed that the song- 
was first printed in Johnson 's Museum. 

Apropos the other song, Open the door to vie, oh I given in the 
same chap-book, it may interest the reader if I state, in concluding 
these notes, that it was altered by Burns, in 1793, fr°ni an Irish 
song, and printed in the volume of Thomson's Collection, issued 
in the same year. The third line of the second verse read thus 
in the chap-book version : — 

The frost that freezes the life at my breast, 
instead of, as in Thomson's version : — 

The frost that freezes the life at my heart. 

With this exception, the two versions agree with the generally 
accepted text. How much of this song is old, and what improve- 
ments were made by Burns, cannot now be determined, as none 
of the poet's editors or annotators have thought it worth while to 
present the original words. There can be little doubt, however, 
that the genius of Burns has been infused into the lyric ; and I 
am here tempted to enhance the value of these notes by quoting 
from Carlyle's famous essay, his remarks on the third verse of this 
pathetic song : — 

We see that in this man there was the gentleness, the trembling 
pity of a woman, with the deep earnestness, the force and passionate 
ardour of a hero. Tears lie in him, and consuming fire, as lighten- 
ing lurks in the drops of the summer cloud. ... It is needless to 
multiply examples of his graphic power and clearness of sight. One 
trait of the finest sort we select from multitudes of such among his 
songs. It gives, in a single line, to the saddest feeling, the saddest 
environment and local habitation : — 

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, 
A nd time is setting with 7ne, O ; 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 
I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, O. 



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